Sitting Shiva
by WhosJeebus
Summary: Wherein Sam and Dean pay tribute to a fallen comrade. Sort of.


**Title:** Sitting Shiva

**Author:** WhosJeebus

**Fandom: **Supernatural

**Disclaimer:** Is no mine, lads and lassies! Please dunna sue!

**Pairing: **None

**Rating:** PG (For a teensy bit of swearing)

**Genre:** Gen

**Spoilers and/or Warnings: **No spoilers. This be Wee!Winchester fic!

**Summary:** Written for the LJ community '**60minutefics'**. I chose the 'Taboo' prompt, and this barely passes muster. Cruelty to animals and tattle-tales are the only questionable subject matter. Okay, maybe there's a touch of blasphemy in there, too.

**Wherein Sam and Dean pay tribute to a fallen comrade. Sort of.**

**xxxXXXxxx**

**Sitting Shiva**

"C'mon, Sam. Get off your ass and start packing. Dad says we're leaving just as soon as he checks out of the motel."

Sam remained in place, sitting with his back to Dean and the door. "No."

Dean sighed in exasperation. His eleven year-old brother was in one of his stubborn moods, and nothing short of dragging him up by the hair was going to make him budge. He settled for gentle cajoling instead, knowing that a fight would only delay them longer. "What's the matter, Sammy? You're not still upset about that damn frog, are you?" Okay, maybe that wasn't as gentle as he _could_ have been.

Sam whirled on him, tears streaking his face. "Go AWAY, Dean! I'm not leaving right now. I'm..." his brow contorted, and a bit of that steely Winchester core showed through his distress. "I'm sitting shiva for Oliver."

"Dude. First of all, we're not Jewish, and secondly, you don't sit shiva for a stupid reptile."

"Frogs are amphibians, you dumbass!"

Dean took a step backwards at the vehemence in his brother's voice. When their father had broken the news to Sam about Ollie, he'd seemed to take it well enough, even mustering a smile when John suggested holding a brief funeral service for their fallen comrade.

Dean thought about turning around, marching right back outside and waiting in the car for their dad to handle the unexpected tantrum on his own, but Sam wasn't quite finished with him yet. When Dean remained standing dumbstruck, Sam leapt from the bed and advanced on him, poking him in the chest with one finger.

"Get out of my sight, you -- you MURDERER!"

Whoa. So Sam had apparently deduced the final moments of Oliver's froggy existence, and was ready to assign blame. That was fine, by Dean's reckoning. He'd known it was coming, he just hadn't expected it so _soon_.

"Man, I'm sorry. I didn't know he was under there. It was an acci -- "

"LIAR! You hated Ollie! You were jealous that he was mine!"

Now that was just downright ridiculous. He had ignored the disgusting, slimy animal, except on the one occasion Sam had slipped the damned thing down the back of shirt. While he'd been _sleeping_, no less. Oliver and Sam had both deserved the thumping they got for_ that_ little stunt. "Look. If you hadn't let him get out of his tank in the first place, then none of this would have happened! He wouldn't have hopped his froggy ass down inside the couch, and I wouldn't have sat on him and squashed his AMPHIBIAN brains out! Because sitting is what couches are FOR, you snot-nosed little -- "

Sam burst into braying sobs all over again, and Dean was suddenly ashamed of himself. He was the eldest, and even at the tender age of fifteen, he'd been cautioned over and over again that he had to learn patience when dealing with his more sensitive younger brother. Sam was his responsibility, and nine times out of ten, Dean took that job very, very seriously. Even when Sam was being a whiny pain in the ass.

Dean put an awkward arm around Sam's shoulders, and eased him back down onto the bed. "Sam... Sammy... You know I didn't do it on purpose, right? You're angry, and upset, but you're not stupid."

Sam sniffled a little and scrubbed the back of his hand across his nose. From the look on his face, Dean judged him at least ready to listen to reason, if not quite ready to forgive. "Yeah, I know. It's just that..." He screwed his face up again, searching his vocabulary for the words to express what he was feeling. "It's like we've already forgotten him. Like he didn't even EXIST. I just wanted to stay here a little longer. Just to think about him, and to..." Sam trailed off, hunching his shoulders.

"Yeah, I know, " Dean echoed, ruffling Sam's hair. "You wanted more time to heal. That's totally natural. Even if he was just a dumb frog."

Sam frowned at the insult, but he leaned closer to Dean, taking comfort where it was offered.

Dean cleared his throat. "But Dad's found a hunt, and even though we're leaving sooner than we'd planned, we still _have_ to go. Our job's too important for us to just wait around. You know that too, right?"

Sam nodded. "But he wasn't just a dumb frog. He was my friend." He pulled both hands up into his too-long shirt sleeves and used them to dry his face. "He was a COOL frog."

"Of course he was. My bad. Any critter with the good sense to be your friend MUST have been cool." Dean gave Sam a friendly shove and then reached down to grab a duffel bag from the floor. "How about I help you pack up your crap and you can tell me about some of your adventures with Oliver the Amazingly Cool Frog?" He stood up and started stuffing stray clothing and comic books into the bag, pausing to turn and give Sam a wry grin. "Hereafter to be known as Oliver the Amazingly FLAT Frog."

Sam giggled, and then looked vaguely scandalized that such disrespect had escaped his lips. "He WAS pretty fucking smooshed, wasn't he?"

Dean nodded along. "He so was. And you watch your language, or I'm telling Dad."

"You rat me out about that and I'll show Dad where you stash your Playboys."

Dean gave Sam an admiring glance. "When did you become such a rotten fink?"

Sam just smiled and kicked his legs aimlessly above the floor.

"Just for that..." Dean picked up a pair of socks from the desk chair and tossed them in Sam's grinning face. "Handle your own stinky laundry."

Sam fell backwards on the bed, laughing and making grossed-out noises, and Dean left him alone to go and report that they were almost ready to leave. He stepped back out of sight of the doorway, watching Sam bustle about for a few minutes longer. He hadn't lied, exactly, and while it was true that Oliver's unfortunate demise really _had_ been an accident, Dean knew he hadn't been entirely honest about the whole thing, either.

He shook his head and smiled, looking down at the floor. He hadn't been envious of Sam for having a pet; he'd actually been a little jealous of Oliver, who occupied much of Sam's time when they were on the road, taking away from the big brother hero-worship that Dean had become so accustomed to.

Laughing at how silly that sounded, even in his own head, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped out into the early morning sunshine. Across the parking lot, he could just make out a small piece of carboard on a stick, marking Oliver's final resting place on the grassy knoll below the motel sign. He turned to give a snappy salute before ducking his head into the motel manager's office. "Rest in peace, Ollie. No hard feelings man, so don't bother haunting me, okay?"

John looked up from the counter and gave him a strange look, but Dean could only shrug.

"We good to go, son? Sammy all packed up and ready to hit the road?"

How to explain sitting shiva for a frog, or being accused of cold-blooded murder before breakfast? Dean just smiled and gave his dad a 'thumbs up' gesture. There was regular weird, and then there was Winchester weird, but the subject of amphibious revenge from beyond the grave might lie even outside those arbitrary boundaries. Probably best not to mention it at all. "Yeah, Dad. We're good. Hey, do you care if I drive for a little while?"

**fin**


End file.
